wns who amused the peasants at Saint Ame."

"His name! his name!" cried Irene, impatiently.

"I don't know his name. He wore a gray hat--"

"Bobichel! It must be Bobichel!"

Irene had forgotten none of these names.

"Let him come in!" she cried. "Let him come in!"

In another moment Bobichel appeared. Was this the poor clown? No; there
were no smiles on his lips, no quips and cranks on his tongue. His
thinness had become emaciation.

Irene went forward.

"You come from him?" she said, hastily.

"From Fanfar? Oh! no--not directly, at least. They won't let me see him,
you know."

"Who sends you here, then?"

"Gudel--Iron Jaws, you know."

"Why did he not come himself?"

"Ah! that I can't say. Gudel bade me give this note to you."

Irene broke the seal. The envelope contained two letters. One was
directed to "Miss _Irainne_," the other to "Mademoiselle de Salves." Why
did she open the latter? Did she know from the defective orthography
that the first could not come from Fanfar? The letter she opened was
from Fanfar. This was it:

"You, who are so good and kind, be doubly so to the sister I found
when too late. The hour draws near when the so-called justice of man
will strike an innocent person. You do not doubt me, I know. I am not
one who would dishonor a sacred cause. Say to my sister that little
Jacques has endeavored to be worthy of his father--Simon Fougere.

"I beg my adopted father, Gudel, to explain to you in detail the
singular events of my life. I place entire confidence in you. I leave
to your care poor Francoise and little Cinette. Love them, and they
will return your affection. You have not forgotten the words addressed
to you so long ago: 'Make yourself beloved.'

"I do not know whether I should now bid you an eternal farewell. I
recognize the fact that I am the object of venomous hatred to some
one, but to whom? Let no one seek to solve this mystery. I forgive
this enemy, whomsoever he may be.

"In a few days--to-morrow, perhaps--my fate will be decided. Do not
despair."

Tears filled Irene's eyes as she finished this letter.

Bobichel watched her all the time, restraining his sobs with difficulty.

"You love him!" he said softly, "and you are right, for he is the best
man I ever knew!"

Irene extended her hand, and the clown knelt to kiss it.

"But we must save him!" cried Irene. "He shall not be condemned--"

"Condemned?" said a voice. "Of